You Are Your Own Worst Enemy
by Anna - leigh Jones
Summary: Irene is always so independent, and being moved around like a chess piece in another of Moriartys games with Sherlock might just annoy her enough to unite with Sherlock. Multiable P.O.V's. Rated for violence and occasional swearing, sexual innuendo.
1. Chapter 1 Delicate

**_Irene's P.O.V_**

_It was cold. A bitter cold that eats away at your soul. But in a way, sweet. Delicate. I can feel the smooth pebbles under my shoes and hear a little creek, very close by. And the sound. The beautifully busy sound of London behind me, going about their last Christmas shopping before tomorrow. Honestly I never understood Christmas. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed this day. But I was far away from that now. Memory of last Christmas seemed … faded. Fuzzy. Compared to the wonderful, colourful world I was a part of now. It felt glorious to be ALIVE. To feel each individual snowflake land in my hair, the soft hand at my back guiding me forwards. The fractured white light slipping threw my blindfold. This, this was my first proper winter in England._

_My mind skipped through the rest of the day. Due to the drugs or just not wanting to remember, I don't know. But laying under that old Victorian style bridge, next to the creek with a little fire crackling away, us laughing and mucking about. Just to hear the way he saw the world. I could get lost in the way he talked of things. He voice was just so mesmerizing as he got into a heated debate with himself over politices or science. I never really pay attention wonce he starts, but God it was beautiful just to watch his mind work. The last thing I remember of that Christmas day was curling up next to him on his spread out coat under the stars, slowly slipping away as his warm hand caressed my hair._

I tried dragging myself back into conciseness, but I was tired and sore. Not quiet able to remember why, I curled Into the hand stroking my check then **BAM** I shot straight out of bed and landed on the stone marble floor like a cat. Waking up next to James Moriarty was not a very pleasant experience. It just goes against every instinct you have. That's why I love it. James was just lounging there with a lazy smile across his face as he admired my stance. The look on his face was almost adoring as he took in every inch of me with his eyes. If it had of been appreciation or respect on Jims face I'd have gotten back into bed. But Jims attitude was making my stomach roll. He was looking at me like he owned me. I grabbed his jacket and tossed it over my shoulders as a walked from his room without a word. Sometimes I like to remind him he doesn't own me, I'm not one of his pets. He's my client.

I wander my way through this renaissance style mansion, feeling amazingly small amongst the high roofs decorated in bible paintings and murals and tall golden carved arches were doors should be. I tiptoed my way through the ball room, my bare footsteps not making a sound on the polished floor boards. Stopping at one of the floor to roof bay windows, I stare out at the massive garden. Bathed in the early morning sunlight, I pick out the rose bushes and name each and every one of them. He has every species known growing in his garden. Colours, vines, beauty and thorns twisting, growing together, and forming a kind of intricate maze. It felt odd standing in Jims own home, knowing all this glorious beauty was sculptured by the unstable mind of the world's only consulting criminal. I couldn't shake this uneasy feeling that was slowly spreading through me as I sipped my coffee. I hadn't dreamt of Sherlock Holmes in almost 4 years… and with Jim sending me back to London, I know I will not be able to stay away.


	2. Chapter 2 Reflections

**Thought I'd add a authors note. I'm terribly sorry for the amount of mistakes I made when writing this chapter so I've edited it, hopefully making it easier to read. This fic will be from multiply characters points of view and I'm going to find so characters pov's harder to write than others, so please just review and let me know if you think I'm missing something. All criticism is welcome. Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Jim's P.O.V<strong>_

Watching Irene's brooding expression in the reflection of the glass was getting dull. She had noticed me when I strolled in and lent against my piano. But she wouldn't acknowledge me. Mmm, I'm going to have to do something about that. Can't have my pretty pets ignoring me. I go to open my mouth and comment but she tensed her shoulders, almost as if she knew that I was about to say something. Ahhh clever girl, was watching me in the reflection. Like I was her. It's a shame really. Her feelings for Sherlock, even if she couldn't see it herself. For someone as ... intelligent as Irene she seems to miss the obvious. It's the one thing I wish I could have, but she would break. She belongs to Sherlock. Pity. Useful for the time being but still a pity. Such a waste of talent. So out of control.  
>I reach out to stroke the back of her hair, watching her reaction. She flinches. And I just can't help it. I can feel a grin spreading across my face and before i say anything a clear, strong voice rings out across the room.<p>

"Yes?"

I freeze, just for a second before I drop my hand to her shoulder and tear her around to throw her to the wall. How dare she? Question me, patronize me. Insult me. I quickly cool the anger coursing through my veins. Scarring Irene won't help me now. No, not yet. I'll save that up for something special. I slowly let her go, but I can see she's still on edge. I look down at her and remember why I keep her around. Most of my toys would have been a quivering mess on the floor but Irene had kept her face smooth, but I can see the calculating look in her eyes as she stands there trying to be all sophisticated. I let out a long sad sigh. Women. They're all the same. I tease a strand of her luscious long brown hair out from behind her ear and start twirling it around my finger.

"There is business I need attending to in London. Just go, you'll get instructions there. It's nothing big just a few bits and pieces. A game really. I need to grab the attention of a good friend of mine... I pause... Sherlock Holmes. And I think you'll do just fine."

I watch Irene filter this information, she goes to say something, no doubt act surprised but then silence a sigh.

"Could you not get someone else to go?" Irene whispered  
>Tsk tsk, she knows I don't change my plans for anyone. Hmmm…<p>

" YOU GO TO LONDON TOMORROW" I throw her against the wall again and watch her crumple to the floor. I just can't help it. This is wonderful, the grin spreading across my face again. I carefully pick Irene back up again and she turns away from me. Unbelievable, I can see her face in the reflection of the mirror in the hall, and it is blank as ever. Cold and unmoved. I swear she does this sometimes just to infuriate me.  
>Her voice, impatient and almost singsong rings out threw the ballroom once again, echoing out along the hall.<p>

"Anything else in particular you would like Jim?"  
>" I want my jacket back" I sing back at her as she slips out of the room, I see her roll her eyes in the reflection again.<p>

She never makes a noise that one. She can walk through any space in the world and you would never notice she was there. Just the impression she leaves on the people behind her.  
>I slacken off a bit, rubbing my temples.<br>I think I'm going to spend a weekend in Paris with Seb, yes I think I shall. Leave Irene to stew a little in London before I start running her into the ground. I'm going to need her expertise with this. Yes, a nice long weekend in Paris with Seb. So much more simple, so relaxing. Not so complicated.  
>I start after Irene, standing at the top of my staircase, watching her dance her way down. So much fire. No I could never tame this one. Such a shame I have to have her killed in the end. A damn shame.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3 Frostbite

_**I thought it might be a good idea to add a disclaimer. BBC's Sherlock is owned by (shock horror) the BBC and this is in no way written for profit.**_

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><p><em><strong>DI Dimmock P.O.V<strong>_

You'v got to be kidding me. You've seriously got to be bloody kidding me. I could be at home with my wife putting up the Christmas lights. Not standing around a crime scene in the bloody cold. Rubbing my hands together to starve of the frostbite, I storm up to the yellow tape to talk to Lestrade.

"What am I doing here Lestrade. This isn't even my derestriction.."  
>I notice from the look on Lestrade's face that I probably said that a little to sharply, and that isn't going to help me here. I let out a tired sigh and rub my eyes with my finger tips.<p>

"All I mean is I could be at home with my pregnant wife at the moment" I shot Lestrade a pleading look, hoping for a little sympathy. Obviously I must of struck a chord because he softened up a bit and led me away from Donavon, who was shooting me acid like glares. Well, if looks could kill …

"Trust me Dimmock, I understand. But with all of these little constant burglaries my hands have been a little full. And now it seems they've started killing. " Lestrade looks just a worn as I did.

"But I still don't see what this has got to do with me." My fingers had started taking on a bluish tone and I could no long feel them in the cold. I wish it would hurry up and snow already, its just been sitting there letting the tempretures get colder and colder.. And I was getting frustrated.

Lestrade looked me up and down like I was an unfortunate wine stain on his carpet, then turn and his heel and took a few strides away from me. "You were the leading DI on the Blind Banker case. We have a thief and now murder who is striking whenever they feel like it, stealing whatever they want, and now shooting the occupants of whichever space that has been robbed. No one saw anybody suspicious enter or leave this or any of the other houses and all the windows and doors were bolted shut from the inside. The only difference between this case and yours is that nothing was stolen from those crime scenes and the killer hadn't decided to sprinkle glittery black stars all over the joint. "

I give Lestrade a few moments to calm alittle from his rant before I say quietly, "You know I had Holmes in on that case".

" Yes I know that, but I just need alittle insight into these cases and I'm running out of options. And I really do **NOT** have the head space to deal with Sherlock at the moment."

I give it a moment's thought before saying just as softly, "Sherlock said the assassin was a climber. Look for any small windows somebody petite could get through. Now, if I call Mr Holmes in the morning and let him in on the case, can I please return home?" I thought I'd be kind, it wasn't worth both of us being pissed off right before Christmas. Lestrade flashed me a grin that had a few too many teeth in it.

"Sure you can go now DI Dimmock, but you'll regret letting Sherlock Holmes in on this case."

I stomp away from the crime scene as the first unexpectently late first snow of the season started to fall , knowing my time had been wasted. I glanced around angrily, looking for my car. I get in and slam the door shut. I hope DI Lestrade heard that and I cranked up the heater in my car. I sat there for a moment pondering, then I sudden realization hit me. I venomously swore at Lestrade and almost thought of smashing my head into the steering wheel a few times. I jammed my key into the ignition and tore away from the scene and the flashing blue and red lights of the police cars. Lestrade was bloody right. Getting Sherlock involved in this is going to be a damn bloody _nightmare_


	4. Chapter 4 French Tea

_**Sorry for the short chapters, I'm going to try and lengthen them a bit. And these ones got nothing of any real importance, just a bit of a filler. Usual disclaimers apply**_

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><p><em><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V<strong>_

I snap into awareness at the sound of my phone buzzing on the coffee table. I had fallen asleep on the couch again. **Ugh **. I uncurl from the ball I had tucked myself into and stretched the kink out of my neck when I notice a faint aroma of tea coming from the kitchen. Strange, I thought John had gone out with that girl again, Salina? Shannon? Shaking my head it doesn't matter. I draw in a shocked breathe when I realize its French tea brewing I'm my kitchen. I bolted straight off the couch, nearly tripping over the edge of the table and too quickly tried to straighten myself, resulting in me, loosing balance and almost falling over again. As my eyes adapted to the dim light in the flat I hear a faint chuckle emerge from over near the fire along with a question.

"Tea?" she asked.  
>I can just hear the smugness in Irene's voice and just imagine the coy smile on her li… I shake my head to clear it. I'm not going there again.<p>

"Yes please" I say stiffly. Irene lets out a more open, true laugh as she pushes off from the fireplace and slinks with a cats grace towards the lit kitchen. I turn away from her. I hadn't laid eyes on Irene Adler in almost 4 years, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.

I take Irene's distraction as an opportunity to check the valuables. The safe behind John's unframed picture, my wallets is still in my coat pocket, John's laptop is still on the desk and my family heirlooms are still packed in the box stacked at the bottom of a pile behind the couch.

" … god Holmes I'm not going to steal from you"  
>I whipped around to glare down the thief standing in my flat... and stop dead. Not being able to stop myself I do a quick evaluation of her. Irene was leaning against the doorway into the kitchen, with a second mug of tea in her hands with that playful half smile across her face and a spark in her warm green eyes.<p>

_Her hair was longer, much long than it had been last time I'd seen her, almost down to her waist. dyed over, given a light red tone._

_teeth professionally whitened. _

_Little bit of make – up, nothing outstanding, little gloss and eyeliner._

_Tanned, healthy. Not as skinny as she used to be, her ribs are no longer showing threw her dress._

_Dress, modest but not slutty, skin-tight. Blood red. Japanese origin. Strapless, ties around the neck_

_Knee length cream trench coat. Leather. Guessing it's her favourite. Well worn.3 years old. Parisian. Must have just come from a business meeting. An important one._

_Long legs, old knee injury, faded scar up the inside of her left thigh, 30-35 stitches._

_I glanced down and my shocked expression must have turned into one of surprise. She was bare foot and there were no shoes were in the flat._

_I swallow hard, noticing the farther away from me she managed to escape, the better off she looks._

Irene must of seen the look on my face because the flirtatious attitude she had slipped away and her eyes looked concerned as she stepped towards me to hand me the mug.  
>" .. Sherlock?" she hesitantly asked. I ignore her, instead I reached out to take the mug and in doing so gentle brushed her hand. <em>Still a chronic nail biter<em>, I observed. She immediately stiffened and goose bumps rippled up her outstretched arm. She smells the same way she always used to. Like roses with hints of cinnamon and... ahhh she started smoking. And there was something else.  
><em>She was afraid of me<em>.

No, not me. But underneath all that attitude something had actually frightened her. Hah, finally in something to far over her head.

I sniffed the contents of the mug. "Not poisoned I presume?"

Irene dropped the concerned looked and swapped it for something close to scornful. "Like I would poison you Holmes. If I wanted to kill you, I'd do something a little more creative" a mischievous half smile adorning her features again. She relaxed a little. "And if I wanted to rob you, I would have done it while you were asleep." She gently sat herself on the edge of Johns chair and folded her legs and her hands intertwined in her lap. I realized I probably looked odd standing in the middle of my own flat. Not that I really care but Irene looked more at home than I did. I half sit\lean on the arm of my chair and sipped the rich tea, looking over the edge of the mug.

"So what is it that you want" I say harshly. I immediately regret it. Slightly. Irene flinches away from me then stands up to lean on the fire place again right next to my skull. Doesn't even bother her in the slightest. Neither does she make a noise. Usually the chair groans and the floor board 2 steps in front squeaks under pressure. She just stood there, staring into the little fire. Makes her hair look like copper wire and the red brings out the tan of her skin.

She then picks up a file that was next to my jack knife and passes it over to me.

" Actually Holmes, I need your help".


	5. Chapter 5 Black Bird

_**Thought i might continue on from the previous chapter so it's not too confusing later on… and I had waaaaay way to much fun writing the last chapter. And thank you so much Eiffel for your review. Usual disclaimers.**_

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><p>Irene's P.O.V<br>I held my arm out in the direction where Sherlock was sitting, waiting for him to take the file. I kept my face and body turned towards the fire. I didn't want to see that smug look on his arrogant face at what I said. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I almost didn't notice Sherlock's slight hesitation before taking the file. _Almost_. I could feel the tention in the air as I turned to face him. We were both waiting for each other to say something, to see who would break first when the front door down stairs slammed open and somebody came storming up the stairs.

I didn't even think. I just reacted. I quickly pivoted on my heel towards the kitchen and disappeared behind the door. I could see Sherlock glance up at the noise, than look around quickly to see where I'd gone. I laugh to myself, I like surprising him. But he didn't look all to shocked as a rather short man came bursting through the door and started to yell at him

"Where the bloody _**HELL **_have you been?" The man shouted. It took me a second to realize that this must be John Watson, ex - army doctor, Sherlock's flat mate. Even if I hadn't already known about Johns military service, I would have picked up on it immediately. There was certain tone of authority in Johns demand, almost making you want to call him Sir.

I took this opportunity to take a little brown box out of my pocket and place it gently on the kitchen table while Sherlock and John were distracted. I ran my hand over the bird carving on the lid. It was of a small hummingbird, but charred so it looked like a black bird. It was a gift, a long long time ago from Sherlock himself. Although back then I kept something entirely different inside. I stood back and lent up against the kitchen door frame, watching this little exchange.

John stood there, breathing hard as if he's been running all night. He suddenly sighed in defeat and sat down hard on the chair I had been sitting on a moment ago and mumbled, "would you at least answer your phone when Dimmock and I call you?" Sherlock just sat there, reading the file looking totally uninterested.  
><em><strong><br>**_

I took this time to intervene.

"You must forgive Sherlock. I distracted him. Irene. Irene Adler." I was rewarded with John nearly jumping ten feet in the air before whirling around to see me by the kitchen. I extended my arm towards John. I could see the shock and surprise in his eyes as he reached out to shake my hand. Then he schooled his face back into some resemblance of a cool and calm attitude. Military training shining through. I could feel a growing sense of respect towards this man. I can see why Sherlock keeps him around.

Glancing around the kitchen at the science equipment and experiments spreding over every surface and variouse body parts, I still have no idea why John decides to with live with him and his .. habits.

Seeing John turn to Sherlock to ask him who i was, I quickly cut in –I really didn't have the time to have that convosation tonight- "It's alright John, I won't intrude on your hospitably any longer." Sherlock gave a undignified snort as a retort from his chair.

I sighed, directing my attention at Sherlock. "It's a payed job. When you've found it, call my number on the back of the card. I'll be in Spain." I walked out the open door and then turned back into the flat.

" Pleasure meeting you John. Holmes. I added an extra coy smile to the end of the sentence, purely to see what John would make of it. I saw his glance between myself and Sherlock. Turning back, I walked all the way out of the flat and almost made it to the first step before I heard Sherlock say under his breathe ...

" What makes you think I'll take this case?"

I let a grin spread across my face as i swung the door open to look back into the dimly lit 221B Bakers street.

"You haven't had a case in a while, nor have you seen me for the past few years. And a 43 million dollar shipping contain, full of Egyptian artefacts has disappeared… you won't be able to refuse". I dipped the last part of the sentence in arrogant confidence, just to torment Sherlock a little.

I let my statement linger in the air for a little before silently skipping down the stairs and out of the flat.


	6. Chapter 6 Cinniamon & Blackberries

_**I'm going to try to update this daily, but I might be going back to school soon and that might get in the way a bit. Usual disclaimers apply. **_

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><p>John's P.O.V<p>

I stare at the closed door of the flat, absolutely speechless. Never in the whole time I'd known him, had anybody spoken to Sherlock Holmes like that. I was rudely snapped out of my daze when I heard a loud crash from behind me. I whipped around to face Sherlock to see him almost fly towards the kitchen and snatch a little brown wooden box off the dinning\prac table. I watched silently as Sherlock turns the little box over and over in his hands. He flipped it over the right way up and he suddenly went extremely pail and froze, staring down at the carving on top of the box. I cautiously walked over to Sherlock, curiously trying to get a look at the box.

Sherlock suddenly slumped down into a kitchen chair, looking stricken and grey. I glanced down and noticed a business card on the table. It only had one word scrawled in calligraphy on the front.

"_Constellation_"

I flipped it over to find the number she must have been talking about. And also written along the bottom in just as neat writing "_Your Welcome x_"

I read it out to Sherlock, then flipped it back over.

"Constellation … I thought she said her name was Irene?" I looked up from the card at Sherlock to see a murderous anger etched into his features. It made him look drawn and well … scary.

"Sherlock …?" I queried, taking a step back.

"How dare she" he whispered, his voice quivering ever so slightly on the last word

"HOW DARE SHE DO THIS TO ME" Sherlock curled his fist around the box like a claw, his hand dwarfing it. I thought he was going to break it.

I was about to take a few more steps back when I saw a single, lone tear all down Sherlock's face and it stopped me dead in my tracks. This, this .. I . I had nothing to say. I couldn't even think. What on earth was happening? Sherlock doesn't … . Mentally counting backwards from ten, I walked back up to Sherlock and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. As if waking Sherlock from a dream, he abruptly stood up and walked into the living area, sitting himself down into his chair like a robot.

"Who is this,.. Irene?" I ask carefully, hoping not to trigger another explosive rant.

"She's a ... old friend of mine" his voice dripping with sarcasm. Well that's a insightful piece of information. I stop myself from rolling my eyes. So I try again.

"What's so... -I pause, searching for the word- significant about the box? "

Sherlock gave me one of his best "If-you-weren't-so-stupid-you'd-know-the-answer" looks before placing the box on the arm of the chair and staring into the fire. I waited a few minutes, letting him collect his thoughts and just as I was about to ask him again, Sherlock cut me off, just like he always does.

" Irene is a friend of mine, from long before I met you. Back in my university days. We were both dealing with a similar… problem." Sherlock spat the last word like it was poisonous.

" I think it was this time 6 years ago I gave this box to her. I don't remember exactly when. … I was so high I'm surprised I even remembered it was Christmas." I was startled at hearing Sherlock confess this. I knew he had had a drug problem, I just thought he wouldn't want to me about it.

"Then what has the box get to do with it?" I asked, rather sceptically.

"This box held every ounce of illegal substances I or Irene ever felt the need for." Sherlock paused letting this sink in.

" We had a rather ugly fight about the usage of drugs, in which case she left and I got clean. I haven't heard from her since. That was four years ago." Once Sherlock stoped mentioning the drugs he flippantly ended the story, as if it wasn't important. I suddenly understood why she left.

"Well are you going to open it?" I asked the obvious, because Sherlock was no longer paying much attention, hypnotized by the fire. He slowly looked down at the box, and his hands started to tremble a little.

"I honestly don't think I want to John. What if she's handed me the drugs?" he honestly looked lost, like he had no idea what to do. Looking at the man sitting in the chair across from me, I wondered where Sherlock Holmes had gone. The Sherlock I know would never let these.. emotions get the better of him, he was never so .. insecure.

"Just open Sherlock. If it's anything illegal, pass it to me and I'll dispose of it." Sherlock looked up at me, his eyes full of gratitude. I had helped him out of what he thought was an impossible situation. This was a side of Sherlock I barely get to see.

He slowly lifted the lid of the box off and looked down into it. I caught a glimpse of purple velvet before Sherlock withdrew a note and peeked in underneath. I watched a smile spread across Sherlocks face and I let out a breathe I hadn't realized I was holding.

"What, What is it?"

Sherlock just kept smiling as he handed the box over, while he unfolded the note. I took the box and even before I opened it again the aroma hit me. It was a rich, sweet smell almost like blackberrys and cinniamon. It was a unmistakable smell, kind of like … well like tea. I picked one of the teabags out, studied it, then glanced in-between Sherlock and the teabag. Sherlock looked up from the note in his hands to see my glance and he sighed.

"There used to be a French Tea shop on a corner street in the quiet part of town. Sold the most unusual blends of tea. That used to be my favourite." He nodded towards the teabag as I placed it back in the box.

"It had shut down a few years ago due to –Sherlock coughed awkwardly- a few indiscretion's." I nodded and handed the box back to Sherlock.

He got up and walked around the back of my chair, cradling the box like it was a treasure and walked into the kitchen. I got up and followed him into the kitchen area once again. Sherlock had picked up the card and was writing her number on the back off the note before he threw the card in the fire. He then handed me the note as he put the kettle on. I read it, re read it. Then read it out loud.

"_You know its rude to peak at the present before reading the card. And honestly, did you really think I would do that to you?...  
>Okay okay okay maybe I once would of, but not anymore. Please burn my card after this. I'm sure you'll realize why. <em>  
><em>And again, like I said, Your Welcome x <em>"

I looked up at Sherlock with a questioning glance then back down at the note. Who the bloody hell was this woman?  
>Looking back at Sherlock I watched him slowly put the walls back up and his expression grow cold. He noticed and questioning glance and just cocked an eyebrow.<p>

"Tea?"


	7. Chapter 7 Sublte

_**I know I'm going to suck at writing this, so just let me know what I can do to make this better. I'll get better the more I write. Usual disclaimers.**_

___Jim's P.O.V_

We were in a high-rise hotel room, everything dimly lit and all the furniture adorned in red velvet. I am very much enjoying my weekend away in Paris. Very much. I feel the buttons of my shirt rip off as it falls to the floor. I tsked under my breathe at Sebastian whilst I hold his head in my hands, seeing a fire in his eyes.

"Careful there Sebastian, I liked that shirt"

I let a small moan escape my mouth as I his lips trailed their way along my collar bone.I could feel him smile against my skin.

I should do this more often I thought, while blissfully ignoring my phone which had been going off for the last five minutes inside my coat pocket, which had been discarded on the floor as I give my f**ull** attention to Sebastian.

_Irene's P.O.V_

Angrily I hang up from my third attempt to contact Jim and without a second thought, I pifted my phone into the river. I stared over the edge of the bridge, into the dark water for a while, cursing my stupidity. Fuck I'm going to regret that. Calming myself slightly, I place my helmet back on my head and rev my bike. Almost about to take off I suddenly feel paranoid, as if somebody is watching me. Taking my helmet off again, I glanced around, taking in my surrounds once more. Busy road beside me, cars constantly going past, not one has stopped, nor has any slowed down. Apartment block on the other side of the road. One or two had their lights on and I can see people moving about inside. I looked back down to the road again, just as a black car pulls up along side my, slightly angling itself in front of me.

… Well THAT was subtle. The back window was open and before the man inside could say anything I cut across him

"Honestly Mycroft, what do you want?" I drawl, trying to imply as much boredom into that sentence as humanly possible.

"Now now Irene, that's no way to treat a old friend." I cringe, I hate the way he talks to me like he's scolding a young child. Mycroft doesn't even know how old I am … I hope.

"Old. yes. Friend? No" My sarcasm is rewarded with a few seconds of silence from the car. Ah, it's not every day you can shut Mycroft Holmes up. Despite my enjoyment, I keep my face blank and bored.

"Get in the car Irene" came the stiff response.

"I'm kinda in a rush right now, maybe you could call and make an appointment? I'm open all business hours." I answer innocently, knowing full well that Mycroft would have seen me toss my phone in the river.

".. You know I know what you're doing here. It'd be rather unfortunate to be pinned with those six murders now wouldn't it?" he answered in a little tone, as if we were discussing the weather. Which was amazingly freezing. He knew I had nowhere to go and he was enjoying the power he had.

"Seven" I answered threw clenched teeth. What is it with the Holmes brothers always being able to get under my skin?

"And I've done far too many "_jobs_" for to put me into custardy. And Lestrade won't recognize me, so don't even bother. And as you so kindly pointed out, I have a job to do." I heard Mycroft inhale, about to start arguing with me again so I interrupt.

"Good Bye Mycroft." A sigh frustrated. "No doubt I shall be seeing you shortly anyway".

Jamming the helmet back onto my head, I floor the accelerator, steering straight into oncoming traffic, excitement coursing through my veins as I dodge the cars and their bright lights flash past.

Ugh I've just wasted half my night on the most unimportant things, and two houses to break into tonight, not to mention I'm catching the first flight out of London tomorrow.

This was soooo not my night.

_**Please please excuse the ramblings I have written tonight. I am just so tired, so if it does'nt make sense don't worry, I shall fix it up tomorrow. **_


	8. Chapter 8 Pride Possessions

_**That's right. I'm sitting here half an hour before school trying to get as much coffee in as I can and just starting another chapter because I love writing them and I'll be a dead girl walking by the time I get home. Here's some of the plot. And thank – you once again Eiffel. I am having a love affair with Paris, and I thought it suited Jim in an odd kind of way. And honestly? I have no idea =)  
><strong>_

_The Smetheys House Hold 2am_

Mrs Smetheys padded her way down their oak staircase, flicking the light on at the end, holding a aluminium baseball bat in her violently shaking hands.

"Who... Who's there"? She asked the empty shadows at the end of the hall. She immediately froze as she heard footsteps behind her on the stairs. She held the bat somewhat steady and waited for them to get as close as she could before spinning around and swinging the bat with as much force as she could…

"**OUCH**" came the muffled voice of her husband from behind his arms as he tries to protect himself.

"Dean? _What on earth are you doing down here_?" I hissed loudly.

"I could ask you the same thing" was the dry response.  
><em><br>_I put the baseball bat down on the corner of the stairs and hugged my husband, trying to stop my hammering heart.

"I, I thought I hea... I thought I heard someone down stairs" I whispered into his chest.

"Well I can say this much honey, if there was somebody down here, you've probably scared them off by now." I could hear the smile in his voice as he picked me up and carried me up the stairs.

"Anyway, is was probably just a possum or something" he said soothingly, trying to calm me

I completely forget about the baseball bat. As we almost made it threw the bedroom door, I thought I heard a faint chuckle coming from under the stairs, but I ignored it

Was probably just my imagination.

_Irene' P.O.V _

Well this was interesting. I was told the Smetheys had left the country for a holiday.

Standing at the bottom of the staircase, I glanced down at the baseball bat, then back up at the staircase. Should I go up there and terrorise them a bit? I cut back the thought before I even finished it. No, these people were good people. Just collectors. I'm guessing Mr Smetheys didn't even realise who he had brought from. Moriarty doesn't always advertise his name on everything. Despite what people may think.

I step down from the staircase and admire the clutter stacked around the hall and under the stairs. I know he's placed it all down here, so when you walk in the front door it's one of the first things you notice.

Shaking my head with a smile on my face, I glide over towards the item in which I'd been paid to collect, picked it up and did a quick inspection. No damage and recently been polished. Mr Smetheys takes care of his pride possessions.

Stashing the pure gold scales away carefully, I take a packet of black stairs and sprinkled them along the hall then slow danced my way out the door, humming a Disney song in my head as I go.

I got back on my bike and headed towards the Francis House, hoping these tenants were out tonight.

Finally, something was going my way


	9. Chapter 9 Rubies

_**I thought I might verify what I meant by Paris suiting Moriarty. I just think that a city like that would bring out the more... instinctual side of Jim, since his mind is always governed by that cold logic (no matter how twisted and warped). I just think that being in a place like that would make Jim more human. After this chapter I think I might give Irene a break, and spend sometime in London with Sherlock and John. Only if you're curious, the vine yard\hotel Irene owns is a little way off from a Spanish town called Brozas. The town's real, but the vineyard itself isn't. just for future refrence. Usual disclaimers. Another short chapter.**_

_**Sherlock's P.O.V **_

Waiting until I hear 221B Bakers street door click shut, I return once again to my chair re read the file Irene had handed me properly. It did look rather intriguing. A whole shipping container just simply vanishing, of course it's never that simple, but I'm going to have to go to the shipping yard to check the ship for more data. 3 other containers, some heading for the museum, others for private collectors. Some with more expensive cargo than others. I can hear John chatting away. I hardly pay any attention. I noticed a large ruby was amongst the objects inside the container. My thoughts darken considerably at the memory of the last encounter we had. I remember chasing a jewel thief all over London for almost a month and still being no closer to finding him/her. The last thing stolen was a ruby the size of my fist and I had no recognition of the rest of that night. It was dark and blank. Not a feeling I liked. Just the red glint of the ruby and _her_green sparkling eyes. Noticing a odd mixture of emotions oiling to the surface I push the memory far from my mind. I did not need to deal with that at the moment.

"So what did Dimmock want?" Cutting John off mid-sentence. John shot me an angry look and stopped whatever it was that he was doing to glare at me. I ignored his look, letting out a sigh as I put the file down. If Dimmock had called John after he couldn't get in touch with then it must have been important. More likely to be something about the robberies and murders.

"He's asked for your help on this thief/serial killer case. He's asking for Lestrade cause it is Lestrade case but he's busy at the moment." John looked up at me to see if I'm interested. I turn the telly on, then place it on mute and stare at it for a few moments. I can tell he's waiting for me to say something but I just stare at the T.V, going through the facts I already knew about the case.

"It must be important, because Dimmock tracked me down to the restaurant I was eating at with Sara". John seems irritated, but he's not directing that frustration towards me so I don't pay it anymore attention.

Silence

"… so are you going to take it. The case I mean"

Of course you mean the case John what else?

"Obviously" I draw the word out, implying as much sarcasm as possible.

"Your distracted" John inquired, sounding curious.

I blinked in surprise. That was a good deduction. He was learning.

Glancing at John, I finally relax a little, stand up and stretch.

" Yes John. That I am."

I walked over and grabbed my coat and scarf from behind the door and slowly put them on, twirling my coat over my shoulders. Even after a long sleep I felt lawsy and sluggish. Saying a quick good night to John and ignoring his concerned expression and strolled out of the flat and quickly down the street. I don't even know where I'm going, just letting my feet take the lead. For once I'm just going to try and stop thinking. Maybe the bitter cold London winter air while help clear my mind alittle.

Damn, should of brought my gloves.

_**I am forever sorry for the amount of mistakes in this chapter. I swear on my life I shall fix it up tomorrow, but I'm just to mind numb to proof read it tonight. It was way too difficult to write. Updates very soon, though maybe not anything new tomorrow.**_


	10. Chapter 10 The Rembrandt Hotel

_**I love Jim too, it's always great fun writing him. Weekend finally, so I'm hoping to get a long one about Moriarty tomorrow or the day after. Spring holidays start in three weeks here, so the consistency of the quantity of the chapters should pick up then. Usual disclaimers.**_

_**Irene's P.O.V**_

Standing in the middle of my hotel room at the Rembrandt, wired and on edge, I wait for my friends to come collect me. I met Sheryl and Carol whilst studying at Uni in Paris. Sheryl was an underappreciated student. Much like Carol but Sheryl was angry, violent. Both girls, two years older than me had majors and degrees in almost everything. Sheryl was at the top in almost every killing at possible, and Carol was the top student in both her anatomy, botany and chemistry. I had seen both girls kill in ways that would give most people nightmares for years.

I smiled at the thought then stopped, disgusting myself. God I was starting to think like Moriarty

I was hoping Carol would be the one to knock at my door, but she's working for Moriarty at the moment. So it'll probably be Sheryl.

Sighing with frustration, I try to loosen up a bit by pacing. Towards the balcony doors, then remembering Jims snippers head back across the white Persian rug, in front of the plush couch and wide flat screen telly, towards the door. Back and forth I walk this path, contemplating.

Ugh, Sheryl was going to be so unco – operative and moody. She liked working with Moriarty so much, it was a little sickening. She hated running errands for me, even if I'd introduced her into this life, gave her this job and a steady income. Moriarty hates dealing with her as much as I do, but her skill sets are useful to both of us and her puppy like devotion to him seems to feed his largely inflated ego. … Not that he would ever admit it.

Then on the other hand Carol was amazing. A perfectly beautiful person. Where Sheryl was a brute, Carol can understand the poetry of death. You want a job done, and quickly you pay Sheryl. You want to see some pain and a job well done, you pay Carol. I unfortunately had hardly any professional dealings with Carol, I didn't like killing my clients or employees. And if I did I would do it myself. I have onlt had to once. The other one deserved it. New to the game, I was hired by a pedophile ring in America to find a lost boy of "theres".

I voiced my hatred, hissing at the empty room. I hated crime involving children. If you wanted to grow up to this life then it's your own choice. But being forced to be apart of it is cruel. I played around a little with the man who had taken the child. Then bashed his brains in. the adrenalin and anger coursing threw me, making my body shake and head spin scared me. More than anything. I then handed the whooooole ring over to the American authorities. It was then that Mycroft found who I was and realized that I was THAT Irene, Sherlocks old friend. Smiling at the memory, I had slapped him for calling me that.

Sitting down on the very edge of the couch, I clench my fists, remembering the sensation of the hot, sticky blood running down my arms and the fist full of hair in my hand….

I slowly looked down at my clenched fists in my lap and let them go, instead tapping my fingers on the arm of the couch along to a tune I had stuck in my head. That's me. Always fidgeting. 

That unique sense of power that comes from taking a life was addicting, it was even worse than the drugs. After that I found a nice little apartment above a coffee shop in the middle of Paris and started University, since I was_ "legally old enough". _I went by the name Conny back then, then kept my professional name as Constellation. I have a large star map tattooed on my back in invisible ink, which only shows up under black light. Hence the name.

I let out a long soft chuckle, without any humour behind it. The only people in the world who know my true name AND my business profession are the three men I would rather not have in my life.

I sharp rap on the door woke me from my now infuriating thoughts. Ahh damn, it is Sheryl.

"The doors open" I get up and lean on the arm of the couch instead when a woman who looks exactly like myself saunters her way through the door.

"You ready?" she gruffly asked, throwing her handbag at me.

I had placed on a short pixie cut, blonde wig and extremely tight black jeans and a band shirt. I looked the same as I did 8 years ago. I glance at Sheryl in distain, noting that she is dressed in exactly what I would have been wearing. We had dressed up like each other to get through border security. Mycroft would have warned the border authorities of a dangerous person trying to leave the country, along with my description. He may know better than to get me caught, but he still likes to make my life difficult.

I gently bump Sheryl on my way out of the hotel room, grabbing the valuables on my way.

I ignore Sheryl's question, not to be rude, but I do not like to lie, and I could not honestly answer her. 

"Are you?" I shot her a questioning look, implying a challenge.

Sheryl bumped into me a little harder and stormed out of the room and along the corridor.

Rolling my eyes, I follow her. Out into the cold London air. Stopping a second, I breathe it in, savouring its sting and the scent of the city. This will be the last time I'm in this city and I'll be going to deal with Jim for a while. Drawing in as much strength as possible before I get couped up in a tinny plane, I exhaled and slipped into the black limo packed on the curb.

Ugh, Sheryl is a horrible driver, screeching the brakes and cutting the corners when she can. She's so terrible, sometimes I think she does it just to piss me off.

Gloomily staring out the window at nothing my thoughts take a turn for the worst, spiralling back towards Jim and Sherlock. Trying to distract myself I actual focus and try to pay attention to what I was actually looking at. I let a slight giggle escape my lips and earn a surprised glance and a little smile from Sheryl. I noticed the snow had started to fall again heavily. London will wake up Christmas morning with a blanket of snow covering the city.

Leaning back into the leather chair, I closed my eyes and tuned into the soft melody playing on the radio, ignoring my mind and Sheryl's amazingly bad driving.

_**If you can't already tell, I love writing Irene's P.O.V. Just curious, I have no idea whether to make or not to make Carol a love interest for Irene or Sheryl\Carol. Please review and tell me which you would find more interesting.**_ _**. This is the apartment block in Paris I'd like to think Irene stayed at during her University days, which she then brought the whole place later on.**_


	11. Chapter 11 Weaknesses

_**This one Eiffel, is for you =) Sorry for not updating last night. I tried to place a link in the last chapter, but it didn't work so I will try and explain it later. I think I'll make Carol a steady part of Irene's life, dunno, I'll see where this chapter takes me. And a special Thank–you to psychoticcatlady's tumblr for the inspiration for most of this chapter. Usual disclaimers.**_

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><p>Jim's P.O.V<p>

__Wandering through the abandoned building I had chosen for the drop off with my hands in my jean pockets, I admire the view. This abandoned farm house was on the top of a hill, in the middle of a run down corn field. This place belonged to an old friend of the family. Needless to say, they never found her body. She was always extra sweet. Sugar coated things. Treating me like a child. Smiling at the memory, I lent on a window ledge, looking out over the field. I closed my eyes, soaking up the last of the weak autumn sunlight before the temperature plummets. It was early evening and the sun was lighting up the endless rows of corn, making the field look golden. This place was perfect in a way. Slowly over the years I fixed this place up. From the outside it looked like it hadn't been touched in years, but inside was a twisted maze of rooms which catered to my every desire. I may over been born and bred in England, but France was my home away from home.

Noting a silver flash of a motorcycle, I step away from the window, and into the shadows. There were two bikes this time. She must have brought a friend. Walking down the corridor, I go through the short list of people Irene would of brought to see me.. Sheryl. Yes, with her little crush on Sebastian, she'l fit into my plans nicely. Especially since it was Irene who trained her. And she did do a wonderful job with the string of murders I sent her on.

I walked down to the end of the hall, turning into the room on my right. It was a large room, with vivid emarld green wall paper and a medium sized fireplace on the wall closest to the door on the left. It had a nice happy little fire crackling away. Sebastain was leaning on the wall next to it, half in the shadows.

I ignored him, walking my way around the perimeter of the room. I had placed a purple lamp shade in the left back corner, and one next to the tiny window in the corner that was looking into the sunset. Leaving the right hand back corner in darkness. There was a long table adorned with a silk white table cloth in the centre of the room. On it, were all the objects I had Irene steal for me, each separated by a candle stick in silver oriental candelabras. I swept my eyes over each piece as I circled the table. I need the help of a Russian astrology professor . And unfortunately I need him alive. The drug trade in Russia as a nasty business. Screwing my noes up at the thought. Politics. I could buy his silence and help, for a rather old set of objects to do with the zodiac signs. They were all made of precious metals and wood.

Aquarius's mosaic vase, glittering purple and silver in the clashing lights. Chips of amethyst was adorning its rim.

Pisces object was still missing, though it is meant to be a large clock, shaped like a ying yang, instead with fish. One fish was gold and the other ivory, with a smooth round bloodstone in the middle.

Aries was tiny, a ram that was so small it could fit into the palm of your hand, completely carved out of ruby

Taurus was two bull horns, carved out of oak, emeralds glittering at the bases.

Geminis was a butterfly. Complete gold, little details etched onto the wings, patterns you could get lost in for hours. Both wings were exactly identical to each other, in every way

Cancer was a brooch, in the shape of a crap. Copper with moonstone eyes.

Leo's was another small one, and rather ugly. A larger tooth, with a think, ripped chain laced through it. The chain was made of gold, silver and bronze wire.

Virgo's was a rather large set of angel wings. Intense blue Sapphires the size of feathers, braced into the shape of wings with silver wire. They were rather pretty.

Irene's second item she was bring me today were the pure gold set of scales, belonging to Libra.

Scorpio's was a hair pin, silver and it's stinger was supposed to be topaz

A teal and copper bow and arrow set, along with quiver was in Sagittarius place.

Capricorns was rather tricky, and honestly, I wouldn't want to own it. They were a pair of "apparently" goats eyes, carved out of garnet.

Circling the table once again for good measure I then make my way over to the corner that was dressed in darkness. I lounged down on the chair in the corner and got a envelope full of cash out of my pocket, placing it on my lap. flicking through the cash. ugh this was going to be boring. I kept my head down whilst Irene and Sheryl walked through the door.

Watching Irene from under my lashes, I saw her take in the space, first glancing at Sebastian, then at myself, then at the table in front of her. She beckoned for Sheryl to place the last of the objects in their places.

"Hello Sebastian and Moriarty. Had a nice time in Paris?" she asked a little to cheerfully. Admiringly, she always finds out everybody's business. She's very good at her job. And I never hire anybody but the best.

Sebastian nodded in acknowledgement in Irene's direction, keeping his eyes in Sheryl.

"Well now Conny, you should know all about that. How as your trip to London? I innocently ask, still not looking directly at her. boring boring boring. Such formalitys bore me to tears (not literally).

Sheryl placed the averaged sized set of scales in the right place and moved back along the table.

"Just trying to be polite Moriarty, and as an answer to your question, bloody cold." I looked up at her just as she glanced at Sebastian who was still looking at Sheryl and rolled her eyes. So she sees it as well.

"So are you inviting your Russian friend to France, or have you set all this up the admire the irony in the connection between the objects you're paying me to steal and my own name?" Irene shifted her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms.

I go to say something, before I am rudely interrupted by a loud crash coming from the centre of the room.

Sheryl had lost her grip on the Pisces clock and dropped it on the floor.

If Sheryl has damaged the clock I will have to get Sebastian to kill her. I let out an aspirated sigh. And that will be messy.

Before I even have the time to react, Irene was suddenly leaning over her, pushing the small of Sheryl's back into the table ledge. Flashing a jack knife at Sheryl's throat, Irene stared her down. Sebastian, looking worried stepped forward to intervene, but I hold my hand up in his direction to stop him. This looked almost promising. Without taking my eyes off the two girls, I stand up.

"Well now this is something" I drawl, letting a little of the adrenaline that was pumping through my body show in my voice. I wanted them to know I was enjoying this.

Irene glanced back at me, then took the knife away from Sheryl's skin, leaving a faint red line in its place. Sebastian relaxed and stepped back to where he was standing before. Keeping Sheryl pinned to the table, she picked up the clock in one hand and placed it in its proper spot on the table. Looking down at the knife in Irene's hand cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Give me the knife" I demanded, knowing Irene will be annoyed at being told what to do. And she reacted accordingly.

In one fluid movement she reached back and threw the knife at my head. It embedded itself an inch from my eye. I didn't I even flinch. Irene looked somewhat impressed as she stood away from Sheryl, letting her escape. Irene keep her eyes on m as Sheryl brushed past her and backed her way out of the room. While Sheryl was fleeing, I read the inscription along the blade.

"_Holmes_"

Raising my eyebrow again I noticed Irene shrug her shoulders.

"Couldn't help myself" she defended herself. Not like I was scolding her.

Sebastian shot me a glance and I nodded. Let him chase her. It will never mean anything

Standing in silence, I wait until Sebastian softly closes the door behind him before I make my move. Irene doesn't move a muscle as I step into the light. Trailing my hand along the edge of the table, I walk up to Irene. Trying to walk around and stand behind her, Irene lightly dances a step backwards and circles with me.

I stop moving, looking down at her

" So are we going to stand here, trying to figure each other out Moriarty, or are you going to pay me? I'm eager to return home" She's trying to understand why I'm standing alone in this room with her. She always knows too little about everything. She almost as good as Sherlock to play with … Almost

"Oh you'll get home soon.. back to your darling Carol again, _Conny_" Implying a little sarcsm to the last word. I hate it when people pretend to be something they're not. I like to bring the essence of a person to the surface. Pausing, I wait for her reaction. She stiffened ever so slightly, but let it go.

"But first I want to give you a little warning. I know you gave Sherlock a job, and I want you to stay away from him." I let a little smile accompany my statement.

And Irene looked at me like a was fucking insane.

"As much as I'm _oh so afraid_ of you Jim, You're a client of mine, not my boss." She held her hand out, beckoning for me to hand her the money.

Handing her the money, I let her turn and walk away. Just before she got to the door I whisper to her

"Oh, but I know what your weakness is Irene. And i know you are afraid." I keep my tone light, watching Irene freeze.

" Stay out of my way Irene Adler."

Grinning like a psychopath, feeling over the moon as I watch Irene force herself to walk out of the room. 


	12. Chapter 12 Exicusion Style

_**I wasn't going to write this, because I had nothing planned, but here goes nothing. Warning: its gonna get a little bloody. By a little I mean a lot. Usual disclaimers**_

Sherlock's P.O.V

It was extremely early in the morning, the sun had only just started to rise when Dimmock had called to tell us that there had been another murder and robbery. I allowed myself a small smirk, knowing the outraged look Irene would have had, having a murder take priority over a robbery. Although it appeared to be necessary. I heard from Dimmock that this serial killer was quiet… gruesome. Waking through the house from the back sliding door, I could tell that these people, more likely the husband were a collector of anything old and expensive. Walking towards the front door along the hall, I noticed tiny glittery black stars all-over the floor. They had been trampled across and sifted. I had no doubt that Irene was the person who spread these stars everywhere, but I couldn't bring myself to believe she was a murder. I therefore decided to be cautious about what I was going to tell the police, ecspialy after how emotionally invested in this case they seemed. Besides, it was dangerous to jump to conclusions

Standing at the bottom of the Smetheys oak staircase, my path was blocked by a rather drawn DI Lestrade. Sick, hadn't slept in, two… three days. Must a bad case. Why hadn't he called me sooner?

"Not good up there inspector?" I ask kindly, trying to stand around Lestrade, but he barred my way.

"Oh why the bloody hell would you care?" he snapped back at me, rubbing his eyes. I ignored his stab at me, it wasn't worth annoying the inspector and Christmas murders were always a touchy subject with him. He had a case when he first started out with a family annihilator, leaving the two children without parents on what was supposed to be the happiest day of the year. Personally, I never understood the point of Christmas.

Lestrade stood firmly a step above both John and myself, stopping all access to the upstairs bedrooms. He pretended I wasn't there for a second and spoke to John.

"To be completely honest with you John, you don't have to see this if you don't want to. It's… pretty bad." Lestrade swallowed hard on the last sentence.

Stealing myself a quick glance at John I tried to shift around Lestrade again, this time he bumped into me and I had to take a step back. I could see the look of disgust on his face, and dismissed the idea of explaining to him why I wanted to see the crime scene. He thought I got a kick out of seeing murder victims. I just wanted to reassure myself that the Irene I knew… thought I knew wouldn't do something like that.

John looks at me and sees through my anticipation. He may not want to see this at all, but he wants to know what I'm thinking. Good old reliable Dr. Watson.

"Iv seen this kind of thing before Lestrade, and if I go in with Sherlock, you won't have to again… if you don't want to." I turned away, pretending to survey the rest of the room below to hide a smile. John always thinks quick, works well under pressure.

Lestrade glanced between us suspiciously, but let us past and I bounded up there stairs. Lestrade didn't follow.

"The parents room is the one on the left, and the … and the kids is the second on the right. "

I hesitated, children's bodies were a disconcerting sight. So I headed straight for the parents room.

With John right behind me, I pushed open their door, to find the room completely disserted. I gave myself a brief second to steady my stomach before I start looking. Stepping into the room I stop by the edge of their bedframe and try to look closely at what I assumed was Mr & Mrs Smetheys body's.

Looking behind me, I took a step back and lent against the wall.

"Breathe John" I sigh, a little frustrated. I suppose I might have to be delicate about asking John to look at the bodies.

I heard John inhale sharply. He had whiten considerably once he saw the sight inside the bedroom and had turned a steady shade of red from lack of oxygen.

"What am I doing here Sherlock?" john disappeared, trying to look anywhere but the mess in front of us.

"Usually I would like you to examine the bodies, a second opinion is useful to me." I tightened my scarf around my neck. I was very cold all of a sudden. Looking around at the rest of the room, it took me a few moments to noticed john staring at me.

"Look John, if we want to catch this killer, we're going to have to move quickly." I looked for an easy lie, and found one. I don't want to tell john yet that I still had a nagging feeling that this could possibly be Irene. If I told him he won't notice the thing that could be important.

John stopped moving, turned back to me and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"If all you care about is catch this bloody … animal, then I'm going to go home." He took a step towards the door when I said quietly,

"John… please"

I knew it would work. John looked a little startled as his eyes flicked towards me and then back at the body. He stiffly walked towards them, kneeling down next to the woman.

"I can't be a hundred precent certain but I think it would be the gunshot wounds that killed them both. Straight between the eyes, execution style. The husbands had his shoulder and elbow joints shattered, and torn open with a knife, serrated edge. Blunt object.

"Yes, I'm guessing the baseball bat at the bottom of the stairs"

Looking down at the woman he had to look way.

"Sherlock, I don't think there's a single bone in this woman's hands and wrist's that that haven't been broken. This all looks like it was done before their…. –it took John a moment to search for the right word- … execution.

He got up without looking me and left the room, but waited outside the room.

I follow, heading towards the child's room. I hadn't seen a child murdered in a long time and although I'd never admit it, I can feel dread seeping into my bones.

This room doesn't even look touched. The child was in the same position as his parents, slumped against the wall, bullet in-between his eyes. I don't ask John to come in with me this time, just silently circle the room then almost leave before I saw the bathroom door ajar. Walking over, i push the door open with my foot, not wanting to contaminant any evidence. I feel my body start to freeze up and i shake it off as i read the inscription in red lipstick on the boy's mirror.

"_You're Welcome x _"

I heard the bedroom door crack open and John curse

"Oh my god... Sherlock,?" he hissed into the air, not knowing where I am.

"They found another house... it's exactly like this."

He waits a moment for a reply, which he does not get. he slowly let the door creak shut again

A steady, heatwave of pure anger boiled to the surface of my mind, just simmering under my skin. I will do anything in my power to bring Irene down for this.


	13. Chapter 13 Venin

_**This is a carry on from the last chapter. A lot of this is just laying down the plot and getting to know the characters, so I'm sorry if it's not interesting enough: \ And I've been snowed under in homework until the holidays, so I won't be updating as much :( I think I'll try and do a lot from John's P.O.V when he's with Sherlock and Irene, it's just easier to explain what I'm seeing that way. There's a split in the middle, and I'm sorry for that, I just didn't quite know how to write it. Usual disclaimers.**_

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><p><em><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V<strong>_

The dial tone connects with the over sea's call… finally! So Irene must actually be in Europe. Huh, backtracking my thoughts slightly, I didn't expect her to tell me the truth.

Somebody answered the phone in the third ring, and from the slight clunk it made, I'm guessing it was a rather old land line. A bubbly French accent speaking fluent Spanish interrupted my thoughts.

"Hola, ha llegado al caer muerto hermosa Carol Venin, a quién estoy hablando?" (Hello there, you have reached the drop dead beautiful Carol Venin, to whom am i speaking?)

"Sherlock Holmes"I answer, frustrated. Why hadn't Irene given me her own number? If i get stuck on the phone to some rambling luni… Was that Irene giggling in the background?

"Oh" she sounded rather disappointed and called out in rather perfect English with her hand over the mouth piece of the phone "Conny, It's for you"

Another giggle, then a splash. "Who is it?" Irene asked, her voice getting closer to the phone.

Speaking Spanish again, the Frenchwoman huffed,

"Alguien con el nombre de Sherlock Holmes" (Someone by the name of Sherlock Holmes) By the tone in her voice, she must be rolling her eyes as she handed Irene the phone.

"You know, he speaks Spanish" Irene informed Carol.

"Oh vraiment? (Oh, really ? (In French) a little intrigue simmered in her words.

"And French" the silence from Carol gave her a sense of being … miffed?

"Well, you've got 5 minutes, or I'm starting without you." The tone was stern, but there was something in her tone underneath something I couldn't quite place, but Irene's answer made it clear.

"Now Darling, that's what I was counting on." Irene's husky voice sounded almost breathless.

"Now, Hello Sherlock." Irene used her most business like tone, although I could tell she's not really paying any attention.

"Conny?" I say a little disbelieving.

"It kinda fits" she shrugs it off.

"I have found the shipping container, and its contents that you were looking for." I say stiffly. Trying to rain the anger in that was almost present in my voice, I inwardly curse at myself.

"So soon?" Irene almost sounded disappointed. I take it she wanted to spend some more time in Spain with her "friend". I smiled wickedly. Her week was going to go from bad to worse. And I'm going to make it hell for her, after what she did.

"I thought you hired me to do a job." I was starting to lose my patience, and my calm was starting to slip. And Irene could tell. Damn that woman knew me too well. I frowned when i Heard the sound of material ripping in the background.

"I shall be in London the day after tomorrow, I will see you then." Irene didn't even hang up the phone, she just dropped it and I heard the soft sound of body's hitting a mattress, before I quickly ended the call.

Staring out the window, I turned to phone over a few times in my hand before I handed it back to John.

Answering Johns quizzical look I turned full to face him.

"She'll be here on the 30th"

* * *

><p><em>2 days later.<em>

_**Irene's P.O.V**_

Slamming my handcuffed hands on the interrogation table in front of me I yelled as loud as I possibly could

"You will pay for this Sherlock Holmes!"

Giving up, I spun on my heel away from the bleak empty room and door. I sat on the table, drumming my fingers on my knee. I'd walk around the room and check my surroundings, but they had locked the chain of my handcuffs to a link under the table. Like that would stop me. but if I kicked up to much of a fuss, they wouldn't let Sherlock question me. and I wanted to know what he thinks I've done that warrants handing me over to Scotland Yard. If I didn't strangle him first. Not being able to get a feel of the room I was in would usually annoy me, but I've been in rooms similar to this last time I was here. Except this had been refurnished I noticed with cynical sarcasm. Nice.

Flicking the chair up with my toe from the floor where I had discarded it, I perched on it's edge, trying to contain some sense of calm. Shifting my body into a more relaxed position, looking more like a business woman then a disgruntled teenager, I picked the lock to my handcuffs under to table, but was interrupted when a tall figure, waltzed into the room and evidently lent on the table. Directly in front of me. I glanced at him quizzically. I never did quite understand the whole "Dramatic Sociopath thing", but he pulled it off rather spectacularly.

"I would rather you keep those handcuffs on for the time being Miss Adler" Sherlock looked extremely pleased with himself as he stared down his nose at me. "With you being a serial killer and all." I rolled my eyes at the tone he used, but when I looked up at his face I could tell he was being completely serious. His eye's had lost all of the glory they had a few moments ago and was replaced with a hard wall, cold and void.

I swallowed hard.

"I may be many thing's Mister Holmes, but a killer, I am not." Holding his gaze, I placed my hands (still handcuffed) palm down on the bunch, in an subtle act of surrender. Sherlock looked rather put off as he glanced between my face and my hands. I took this moment of uncertainty and pounced on it.

"I would never kill a family Sherlock, let alone children" I whispered. I can't believe Sherlock thought I would do something as inhuman as that. The look of uncertainty in his eyes turned into a mask of disgust as he turned away from me

"For all I know Irene, you could have." I was almost offended when I heard something in his voice that wasn't right. I couldn't see his face but he was acting rather emotional. Realization dawned on my and I foul acid like taste tipped the edge of my tongue. Placing my hands on the table again, I stand up. Leaning in towards Sherlock, who had turned around when he heard the soft rattle of the cuffs.

I could hear that same acid biting in every word I spoke.

"You cannot lie to me Holmes." His face went from the sorrowful mask to undiluted hatred as he copied my position, leaning in and trying to stare me down. I glowed at him. Of all the stupid, ignorant... I had an idea.

Letting a smile half smile light my face, I watched Sherlock's face turn suspicious. Standing up I addressed the glass window off to the side of the room, although I was watching Sherlock in the reflection.

I want to see Mycroft Holmes. Now"


	14. Chapter 14 Family Resemblance

_**Another Carry on from last Chapter, things should get interesting right after this. Usual disclaimers**_

_**Sherlock's P.O.V**_

A narrowed my eyes at Irene, not wanting to let her know I had no Idea she knew my brother. What the hell did she want to talk to him for? Giving up trying to figure it out, there were just too many possibilities, and I didn't know enough about the situation. Leaning back, I straightened my scarf up, trying to guess what Mycroft would do to get Irene out of here. I'm going to call my brother, but just because I am curiouse. Ignoring the tiny voice in the back of my mind that was whispering away "_No, your going to call Mycroft because you want to prove she's innocent._" Like I said, I ignored it.

"Fine" I said, swirling my coat around as I disappeared through the door, leaving Irene standing there in her handcuffs, with a extremely pleased look on her face.

"Hello freak" came the usual self-righteous voice of the Miss Sally Donoven, who had been leaning on the wall across from the interrogation room.

I barely gave her a passing glance, thoughts of my brother and Irene swirling through my mind, the countless possibilities. She had stayed the night at Anderson's again, she only had that spring in her step after spending the night with Him. I had absolutely no idea what she saw in him. She followed me around the precinct like a hawk. Not as if I didn't know my way around perfectly. I've walked these halls since before Sally was employed here. Yet still she finds some need to watch my every mood, waiting for me to make a mistake. I smirked.

Like that was ever going happen.

Walking into the DI's office where John and Lestrade was waiting for me, I slammed the door in Sally's face. Lestrade looked at me disapprovingly and John just rolled his eyes. John was used to my antics, and I wish Lestrade would find some decently intelligent to surround himself with. He could be a fairly good Inspector if he wasn't constantly surrounded by idiocy.

"So what did she want?" John asked. He still didn't want to believe that a woman he hardly even knew would be a murder, but he didn't doubt my knowledge. Lestrade just looked at me expecting an answer. He still hadn't clued on that he knew Irene, but I wasn't going to inform him of that just yet. If he realized he would quiz my about it and my past was definitely something I would rather not discuss, especially if my brother would be here shortly.

"She wants to negotiate with my brother, Mycroft" John raised an eyebrow in surprise and Lestrade threw his hands up in the air, before returning on to his hip and the other pinching the top of his nose, looking rather aspirated.

"Honestly Sherlock, I might as well hand the entire force over to you and you can run it single handed."

"Ah, dull." Was my only response as a turned to John who was still looking rather confused. I internally sigh, John was more intelligent than he gave himself credit for, and there he was, wasting brain cells on facial expressions.

"How does Irene know Mycroft?" Ugh, the predictable doctor.

"I have no doubt that murder isn't the only area of expertise this woman has, and I'm sure she would have run into my brother in her line of business." Back when Irene was living with me off and on I never let her meet Mycroft. He had a outstanding distaste for my vices, and I didn't know how he would react to her. It hadn't crossed my mind that they might met under different circumstances.

"… so?" Lestrade took his hand away from his face and lent back onto the edge of his desk, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I texted Mycroft, he will be here any second now"

"Right you are little brother." Mycroft had silently slipped in through the door and everybody in the room (except myself of course) jumped in surprise of his voice. Both John and Lestrade he been so focused on me they hadn't even noticed Mycroft walking through the office. I had been watching him in the reflection of the glass behind Lestrade's desk.

Inspecting the edge of his umbrella, Mycroft addressed no one in particular. "May I see Miss Adler now?" I smirked at the barely concealed demand in his voice. He was only trying to give the impression of being polite. It was one of the many personality traits that made me so despise my brother. He didn't earn respect, he didn't demand it. He just assumed in his arrogant way that it would already be there. Lestrade looked rather dumbfounded as he continuously glanced between Mycroft and myself and sighed. I saw him mumble under his breathe

"_Now I see the family resemblance."_

Turning on my heel, I brushed past Mycroft and into the bustle of the office.

"This way _brother_" I added a little emphasise on the last word for Lestrade's benefit. "And I'm not your little anything" turning away from Lestrade's office, I headed towards where Irene was being held. I knew Mycroft was following me, and no doubt John and Lestrade.

Holding the door open for my brother I took a quick glance into the room. Irene had since removed her handcuffs and dissected them, each link a piece placed perfectly along the table infront of her. Irene had taken her hair out and let it mask her face as she picked her nails with ... wait, was that my jack-knife?

"Nice to see you Miss Adler, keeping up appearances I see." Mycroft spoke in such a lofty manour sometimes I just wanted to sock him one. I I smiled inwardly at the thought, knowing Irene would probably be thinking the same thing.

"Which is more than I can say for Mr Holmes, putting on weight again?" The way Irene addressed Mycroft was odd. She called Mycroft "Mr Holmes", making it sound formal. Yet when she called my by my last name it was never like that.

"Ah, the pleasure is all mine" Mycroft muttered in a sarcastic undertone, but loud enough for the rest of us to hear.

"I think I can take it from here Sherlock."

I nodded, swinging the door shut. But not before I saw Irene tear her lazy gaze away from Mycroft and look at me with and intensity I couldn't explain.

I closed the door, ignoring the amused smile on Johns face and left the precinct feeling hollow. 


	15. Chapter 15 The Current Evidence

_**I am so sorry I haven't done this sooner and if Sherlocks character isn't up to scratch. Just leave a review if you think I could do anything better, all suggestions welcome. Usual disclaimers**_

**Lestrade's P.O.V**

It was rather amusing watching Sherlock broodingly pace back and forth across my office. He seemed rather... on edge. Though I don't know whether it is because of the woman Irene we have in our interrogation rooms, or because his own brother was in there with her at the moment. I still don't quite get all that. But it was Sherlock, so I let it slid. It's not worth it and I had a feeling that this "Mycroft" had ways and means of doing things. Sherlock seemed rather agitated, and he had wanted to get this case with over and done. It was almost as if he knew this person.

"So who is .. Irene"? I tread carefully, I know I will need Sherlock again, and if I piss him off it was just going to turn into a headache. Sherlock stopped pacing and turned to me, saying immeditatly

"The murderer" .. then I saw a quick flash of doubt light his eyes before he started pacing again.

"Is that a hint of uncertainty I detect?" The words were out of my mouth before I thought them through properly and the scathing look Sherlock directed at me would of scared anyone. Preparing a reply for the whatever witty comment Sherlock had coming, I was rather shocked when Sherlock went turned serious.

"All of the current evidence points to Irene;  
>Her job, skill set, abilities, the fact that she admits to visiting those areas of London around the time of the murders, the lipstick and note …<br>Sherlock trails of and stop pacing to glance out of my office, his expression unreadable.

"I don't know if she is capable of such .. brutuallity" Sherlock minced the last word in his mouth, and pulled an odd expression whilst saying it.

I quirked an eyebrow at the man standing in the middle of my office. Instead of commenting on Sherlocks unusual display of uncertainty, I decided to be tactful and stick with the case.

"Current evidence?" I sound sceptic. I have not publicized Irene's arrest to the public as of yet, but it made the precinct feel more relieved to have somebody in custody and Sherlock had pointed us right to her.

"I believe she was involved with it somehow but I do not think she is the murder."

Sherlock sounded distant as he continued to stare out the window and John sat silently across for me.

I hid my amusement from Sherlock and sighed openly.

"Maybe youre brother.. Mycroft? might help clear things up?"

I couldn't keep the doubt out of my voice. Sherlocks brother may have a away of getting things done, but I don't like him. His attitude is annoying.

Sherlock smirked slighty and continued pacing.

"No doubt my dear brother has a way of getting things done, but I doubt you'll like it" Sherlock sounded too smug for my liking and I glared at him as he paced around my office.

" As long as he clears this up and the killer is cause, I don't particularly care".

_**Im about to write another now, which will directly cary on from this chapter, so sorry for the lack of content.**_


	16. Chapter 16 Unoffical Diplomat

_**In the interrogation room**_

**Irenes P.O.V  
><strong> 

Gently I tapped out a tune I had stuck in my head on the table with my finger nails, I stared lazily across at the man sitting in front of me.

Mister Mycroft Holmes is entirely different from his brother, yet completely the same. I smiled at that thought. Sherlock might actually hit me if I said that out loud.

"What is it that you find so amusing Miss Adler?" Mycroft drawled. He had is legs crossed and his umbrella sitting across his lap. Expensive dull grey suit and dark maroon tie. He inspected the parts of my handcuffs aligned in front of me and glanced uninterested at me.

"Oh, nothing in particular Mister Holmes." I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs under me. It is more difficult than it should be to act comfortable and professional around Mycroft. He once commented that my attitude reminded him of a disgruntled teenager. I could have punched him for that.

"So, why is it you wish to speak to me now in this rather drab place? I expect you would want something Miss Adler." Mycroft raised his eyebrow at me in a silent demand to know what I was up to. Ugh, so glad Sherlock didn't have as much arrogance as his brother. But it is always fun to play with Mycroft. The look on his face when you surprise him is most amusing.

"You know me Mister Holmes, always in something over my head. And seeing as your darling brother has helped put me in this drab place, I was hoping we could come to some sort of arrangement." As I said this I leaned forwards on the table, palms down and spread my fingers out, inspecting my nails.

"The circumstances in which you arrived here is rather unfortunate I must confess, although much warranted. I warned you about your business dealings in London, my brother is very good at what he does I'm afraid." Mycroft looked at me bemused and inspected the tip of his umbrella.

"Well, what can I say, I had a very … persuasive client." I emphasized the word client, hoping Mycroft would understand. He knows I deal with all sorts of people in my line of work, and sometimes I help him handle a few within his own borders. But he mentioned if I was ever to be contacted by James Moriarty that I was to inform him. Of course I didn't, but after Jim's interest in Sherlock peeked I've been feeding Mycroft bits and pieces of Jim's dealings in London.

"I guess I can arrange something, I have a reputation to uphold. I can't have a friend of mine arrested for 9 counts of murder now can I?"

My looks darkened considerably at the tone Mycroft used. I will owe him something for this. But I did raise an eyebrow at him with the use of the word "friend."

Collage, informant, exchange and unofficial diplomat maybe, but friend? No. But he won't want to let on too much if his brother may be listening. We keep our dealings private and under the radar. I can't have word going around that I'm buddies with the British secret service and Mycroft can't be seen with a known criminal. I smiled inwardly at that last thought but kept my face blank and lent back in my chair.

"I suppose I can arrange a meeting soon." I said dryly. God, he wont let me forget this.

Mycroft smiled. It wasn't a happy one, more like enjoyment. This man is insufferable.

"I'll make a few calls, men will arrive shortly to collect you. Please don't make a habit out of this Miss Adler." He stood up and looked down his nose at me. Then sighed, as if he was dealing with a child. He turned, twirled his umbrella and strolled to the door. As he placed his hand on the handle he turned back to me and said exhaustedly

"I trust you'll deal with this inconvenience Miss Adler." He turned the door handle and open it quietly.

"Oh and please do pick your clients more carefully in the future Irene."

I was almost surprised at Mycrofts tone, but just nodded to him as he closed the door. Was that Mycroft caring? I just shook my head and leant back in my chair. I don't want to ponder that right at this moment.

Taking a moment to collect myself, I crossed one leg over the other and placed my hands in my lap, and waited for Mycrofts men to come.

**Lestrades P.O.V**

"ABSOLUTELY BLOODY NOT!" I slammed my palms down on my desk as I stared at the unfazed Mr Holmes.

"I am not releasing this criminal into your custody? Just who the bloody hell do you think you are anyway?"

"Mycroft Holmes, obviously." He just sat there. Just bloody sat there looking like he was out at a tea party. And he wants me to release my suspect. MY SUSPECT!

Mycroft Holmes lent back in his chair slightly and fixed the DI with his eyes.

"I am sorry to inform you Detective Inspector Lestrade, but this is out of your hands. This woman is highly dangerous and the American government has been tracking her for a long time. She will be handed over to them."

Mycroft stood up from his chair and brushed himself off, ignoring my shock. This man must be ludicrous. Sherlock turned away from his brother, looking cold.

I tried to open my mouth to say something, protest this but Mycroft held up his hand, as if to shh me!

"This cant be helped Inspector, you will just have to settle with the fact that this woman will be brought to justice."

He turned his back on me and walked out the door. Then called over his shoulder.

"Good day Inspector, pleasure as always John. Sherlock."

I fell back into my chair, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.


End file.
